


Little Concessions

by cyanideinsomnia



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Bad Decisions, Demon Valerius (The Arcana), Heavy Petting, Kidnapping, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mind Control, Mind Manipulation, Nadia's Route (The Arcana), Possessive Behavior, Post-Trial (The Arcana), Rough Kissing, Roughness, Valerius is just as much a desperate thot as Lucio
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:13:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22534525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyanideinsomnia/pseuds/cyanideinsomnia
Summary: “Desperation is very becoming on you, Consul,” A deep growl against his lips a moment after he was released, his breath hitching as the hand between his legs tightened its grip. “We have a deal.”
Relationships: The Devil/Valerius (The Arcana)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 19





	Little Concessions

**Author's Note:**

> my entire motivation was Valerius' lil blushy face talking about his deals with the Devil in Nadia's route (upright path, apparently he gets choked out in reversed)
> 
> there was going to be the Whole Relationship but my brain apparently stopped at the end before you find him in the Hierophant's realm

Wrought iron manacles encircled elegant wrists, common, dirty, crushing fine fabric beneath their weight, already beginning to chafe against soft upper class skin. There was a disgusting sheen of rust and what could be old blood across their surface. Who knows how many peasants, gladiators, murderers and lepers had worn them before him?

Valerius could hardly bear to move, tired of the heavy weight reminding him of failure with a discordant rattling of chains at each shift of his arms. The wine glass in his hand sat untouched, too focused on glowering at his shackles to consider relaxing. They hadn't listened when he told them being confined to his estate was enough, he didn't need this - they wanted to rub his face in it, make sure he knew the city stood against him.

He already knew _ that _ three years ago.

Small blessings, he supposed, that Nadia didn’t simply decide to put him to death for his treachery. Then again, maybe that would have been preferable.

He hated that a flicker of hope passed through his heart as he heard footsteps outside the main room, glancing up to see if it was the Countess coming to either set him free or rectify her mistake of letting him live - or hell, maybe even provide some stimulating company, a friendly game or two to occupy the time. He couldn’t stand being trapped in limbo like this.

The glass nearly slipped out of his grip as a familiar handsome man with cold crimson eyes and sharp features strode into the room instead, gazing down at him with an inscrutable expression.

“I failed you,” It tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop it, his own gaze immediately dropping back to his chains, so much heavier and darker now that they were being observed. “I thought I had everything well in hand but she had the witch on her side, and my court betrayed me. It all fell apart so fast, I couldn’t..”

A soft creaking of weight on the couch at his side stopped him before he could embarrass himself any further, instinctively tensing up for some kind of retribution. Instead his companion simply lazily draped an arm around his waist and tugged him closer, heedless of the chains bumping against a knee. The glass was taken from his hand and set to the side to prevent any unwanted spillage, and immediately both hands withdrew to tuck against his chest as if they were just as offensive as the chains attached to them.

He at once felt protected and trapped in his warmth, curling up against his side and leaning his head against his shoulder despite himself, trying to ignore the spark of hurt as he felt it tense beneath his cheek. 

After a long moment, he sighed. “... it would appear that I need your help again.”

“It seems so.” His guest mused with a wry smile, deep voice rumbling through his body. “What do you require of me, Consul Valerius?”

“... remove these, at least. Please.” 

Valerius reluctantly unfurled his chained arms and carefully laid them across the lap beside him, fingers still curled in shameful fists. He’d long since learned not to question  _ how  _ he performed his little miracles, and perhaps at this point he was taking them for granted. 

The idea of requesting true freedom only flickered through his mind for a moment, swiftly discarded in favor of some misguided loyalty to the newly formed traditions that had failed him. He trusted Nadia’s judgment more than she would ever be allowed to know, especially now that he had betrayed her.

A broad hand curled around both smaller ones, idly lifting them to his face to inspect them. His fingers were trembling in his grasp. 

“And what do you offer in return?”

Once again he dropped his gaze, curling up a little tighter against his benefactor’s side, something between shame and regret flooding him at once. He’d forgotten to factor in the price. Of _ course _ there was a price, there was always a price, how could he be so stupid?

“I… I don’t know. I cannot leave the confines of my estate, and you’ve already expressed disinterest in my possessions.” He bit his lip, mind racing. “All I have to offer you at this time is myself.”

A low chuckle, and the hand released his own, thick fingers curling beneath his jaw to tip his head back up. “Mm, tempting, but what of you don’t I already own?”

Heat flooded his face and further down, especially as the broad hand at his waist shifted to lazily slide down between his legs, stroking his cock through his robes. Valerius shuddered and arched his hips into his touch despite himself, ashamed at how quick he was to throw himself at him. Devaluing his offering even further.

“.. consider this a package deal.” He said softly, hesitantly. “You can have all of me - mind, body, heart and soul. I don’t have anything else left. I apologize if this is.. unsatisfactory as well.”

If _ he _ was unsatisfactory, is what he wanted to say. They both knew it.

After a moment of deliberation, his captor lunged forward to capture his lips in a deep, suffocating kiss, the familiar taste of iron and smoke flooding his mouth, addictive and oppressive and otherworldly, briefly allowing himself to forget about his current predicament as he helplessly pressed up into it, at least until the rattle of chains accompanied his attempt to pull him closer.

“Desperation is very becoming on you, Consul,” A deep growl against his lips a moment after he was released, his breath hitching as the hand between his legs tightened its grip. “We have a deal.”

He felt the weight of his chains sliding away, accompanied by another breathtaking kiss and a sudden burst of heat roaring through him, washing over him, presumably some kind of magic taking what it was owed, however it intended to do so. A brief jolt of fear followed close behind, suddenly unsure of how he was supposed to uphold his end of the bargain, having only thought in abstracts, and if he was going to simply kill him to take it all in one fell swoop--

And then the other man was getting up and beckoning him to follow, and he staggered to his feet as if compelled, like a puppet yanked up by its strings, warm red fog coiling comfortably inside his mind, blotting out any of those worries as he diligently dogged his heels.

“Let’s continue this somewhere more  _ discreet _ .” He chuckled, and Valerius immediately nodded along with him, despite knowing full well the estate was otherwise empty.

He trusted his judgment. Nadia could have eyes and ears posted anywhere.

The door to the West Parlor was covered in a thicket of vines that curled away as if burned as it swung open, and he distantly wondered when there had been a door here. Then again, he’d had many renovations of the estate in the past, and a little privacy couldn’t hurt. 

For a brief moment the entryway was disconcertingly dark and foreboding, crumbled stone walls and jagged steps leading into an unfathomable abyss, what looked like human skeletons dressed in tarnished gold and tattered robes of office similar to his own gleaming in a hint of firelight below. 

For a brief moment, he hesitated at the threshold, gazing up at his companion with some confusion and perhaps an inkling of fear filtering in beneath the shroud of warm complacency.

He winced at the resulting vice-like grip on his wrist, tugging him through the archway in an indignant stumble and then another crush of lips against his own, another rush of otherworldly warmth flooding through him - and the West Parlor was like it always was when he drew back. 

Of course it was. Appearing like anything else would just be foolish. He knew his own damn estate.

He allowed himself to be led to a chaise lounge by the window, spacious enough for two, the red light of sunset spreading along the cushions like spilled wine. Without warning the larger man all but threw him down onto it, pinning him there and trapping his lips in another hungry, possessive kiss, rough hands tugging at disheveled finery, his body already burning beneath him. 

His thighs immediately, shamefully spread apart the moment a broad hand returned to stroking him, this time pushing itself inside his robes, roughly exploring him as though searching his body for something. The hungry mouth moved from his own to bite at his throat with a low growl of approval - 'you're nearly complete', words he couldn't comprehend whispered against his skin - teeth feeling much more pointed and painful than he remembered and yet he yearned for it, arching into every touch. His hands felt so much heavier, more  _ real _ than they had before.

“Please..” He heard himself gasp, digging his fingers into his shoulders as a sort of lifeline, an elegant leg less than elegantly lifting to hook around his waist, trying to pull the broad hips towards his own, so close and yet not close enough. If the  _ hands  _ felt more solid, he could only imagine what his cock would be like.

He wanted him to take him, use him, leave him a disgusting mess across his own floor. It was as much as he deserved for trying to offer what he already owned.

And yet at the height of pleasure, the hands and mouth suddenly withdrew. 

Valerius slowly stirred against the cushions with a little questioning noise, blearily blinking up at him in confusion, feeling his shawl and vestments slipping off his shoulder and far past caring. The irritable gaze he was given in response quelled at least some of his arousal, but not enough that he was above reaching for him and whining. 

An even, forced smile with too many teeth spread across the other man’s features as he remained decidedly out of reach, shaking his head. “Terribly sorry, but I have _ other  _ arrangements to attend to.”

“O-oh, of course-- but you’ll come back, won’t you?”

The only response was a noncommittal little hum, his benefactor simply striding towards the door, swallowed up by an odd darkness that didn’t belong there as he disappeared from view. For a brief moment he saw the shadow behind him shift, a glimpse of something oddly like horns.

The door was then closed behind him, and Valerius heard something like the soft click of a lock.

Ah. Of course. He was, after all, under house arrest. Although this felt a bit more  _ permanent  _ than simply closing off the main room to his estate. Like he was trapped here, stolen away from the world he knew and locked in a tower like a fairytale princess.

He tried to ignore that absurd but rather compelling feeling as he obtained another glass of wine, tugging his clothing back up onto his shoulders and smoothing wrinkled fabric before reclining against the chaise lounge, waiting for his fluttering pulse to settle. It was fine, there were other entryways, the West Parlor wasn’t a prison cell. 

The taste of this vintage was awful. Like trying to swallow bile.

For some reason he kept drinking it anyway.


End file.
